


Word Vomit

by maykitsune



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Future Fic, Humor, I Love You, M/M, Oh my god all the fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, also all the fluff, and some more fluff, word vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:08:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maykitsune/pseuds/maykitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The combination of ADHD and word vomit, it’s literally the worst thing that could ever happen to Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Word Vomit

**Author's Note:**

> Super short fluffy fluff. It's really just a taster for more to come. I've got 4 different Sterek fic's in the works that i'm taking my sweet time to finish.  
> Like it. Live it. idk just tell me what you think maaan.  
> Kudos, comments, something?

Word vomit.

God, Stiles hates it.

With the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. 

The combination of ADHD and word vomit, it’s literally the worst thing that could ever happen to Stiles. And he’s totally justified in saying literally, okay? 

Because he’s gone up against ravenous werewolves, and giant homicidal lizards, Lydia freaking Martin on her period, and evil Druid bitch teachers, he’s been possessed by trickster spirits, been beaten up by his 60-year-old principle, hell, Stiles has held his crush up in 8 ft. of water for two long hours without copping a feel (even though Derek wouldn’t have felt a freakin’ thing, that takes some damn restraint okay?). 

So, yeah, he mean’s literally. 

As Stiles stands in the middle of Derek’s loft it strikes him just how horrible his life really is, because on top of those thing, all those terrifying things no 18 year old should have to injure he can feel the word vomit rising up his throat like bile. Of cause it would happen now, the first time he’s been alone with Derek in months, when there’s no witnesses to see his inevitable death. He tries to swallow it back but he cant, Stiles knows any second he’s going to say it, going to spit the word’s out like poison because he just can’t not. 

And Sourwolf, god, he’s going to hate him for it. 

“Iloveyou”

There it is, he’s said it, it’s done. 

And although he blurted it out in a rush, the words running together in a confusing bundle of syllables, he can tell it doesn’t matter. Derek absolutely heard him because, suddenly, he’s not moving, he’s frozen, in fact it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. 

All Stiles can do is stare at the little crease between Derek’s eyebrows and wait, and watch, and wait. 

He’s going to explode, any second he’ll, he’ll just go insane and kill Stiles. It’ll be Peter all over again, instead of being triggered by revenge it’ll be by the stupidity of an 18-year-old boy. 

Stiles knows he should get out of dodge, but clearly he has no sense of self-preservation and even if he did he can’t move. His brain is struggling with the simple task of reminding his lungs to breath, how the hell is it supposed to tell his feet to move, and in which direction, and at what speed, and, God, where to go.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because it’s too late. He’s missed his chance to run. Derek’s moving, he’s moving towards him with a face full of conflicting emotion Stiles wont even try to understand. He looks down, he can’t bare to look into the werewolf’s murky green eyes while he gets his heart broken. 

“You..” Derek splutters, stopping in front of Stiles “You love me?” 

Stiles coughs, scratching the back of his neck “That’s what I said” He wants to look at Derek, wants to see if he looks angry. He doesn’t sound angry. Actually he sounds, out of character as it may be, flustered. 

Stiles stares down at Derek’s bare-feet as they shift closer “Did you mean it?” The teens cinnamon eyes shoot up at that. There were a lot of things he had expected Derek to say, or do, all of those things involved violence in some shape or form. 

A frustrated growl, or a quick shove into the nearest flat surface, more likely then not a threat involving the werewolves sharp teeth and Stiles pale, mole scattered neck. He definitely hadn’t expected to see vulnerability in Derek’s eyes, the softer side of tempered steel, it was almost too much for Stiles to take. 

Almost.

He looks right back into Derek’s perfect face, nodding his head numbing. Obviously he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he knows his heartbeat is completely erratic, his hands are shaking, and clammy. And the worst part, God, the worse part, Derek is aware of every twitch his body makes. Can smell the nerves and fear rolling off him in waves, and that includes the pungent smell of hope which is more then defiantly pouring out of every fibre of his being. 

“Yeah, I… I meant it” Stiles whispers, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to swallow back his nerves. 

Stiles thinks he’s on the edge of a panic attack, his heart is skipping every second beat and he isn’t pulling enough air into his lungs, then, suddenly, everything is okay because Derek’s face is morphing into something Stiles has never seen before. 

A smile. A real absolute happiest-day-of-my-life smile. 

It looks so foreign on Derek’s face it knocks the wind right out of Stiles lungs. Because seriously, seriously how is it even possible for the werewolf to get more attractive? His face is still composed of it’s usual high cheekbones and rugged man stubble but he looks younger, actually looks his age for once. He doesn’t look like he’s being weighed down by years of miss-paced guilt, and self-hatred. 

Before any other ridiculous confessions can tumble out of Stiles’ mouth Derek’s tongue is down his throat and they’re groping, grasping, clutching at each other as if the rest of the world has fallen away.

Derek’s hard frame's pushing against Stiles, pushing him back, further and further until finally he stumbles into the bare-brick wall of the werewolves loft. Finally, fucking finally Derek has him pressed against a hard surface. Honestly Stiles is feeling trapped, but safe, content, so freakin’ happy he could cry, because he’d been waiting for this moment since he was a scrawny sixteen year old. And okay, sure, that was only two years ago, but a lot can change in two years, Stiles has the mental capability of most men twice his age, thank you very much. 

Anyway that doesn’t matter.

Actually nothing matters, nothing except the firm press of Derek’s body against Stiles’ slight frame, God, why should it matter? Fuck the rest of the world, why haven’t they been doing this the whole freaking time? 

Stiles can’t find it in him to regret a single moment that’s happened in the last two years. Not a single moment of that bloody, dark, twisted hell, because every second has been leading him to this moment. 

Great, love has made Stiles sound like a 13-year-old girl.

Hell, love has made him sound like Scott.

Ugh.


End file.
